


a gift for an old friend

by WingedFlight



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Twas the Night Before Christmas, santa's magic sleigh, there is no problem with Susan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28311108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedFlight/pseuds/WingedFlight
Summary: Twas the night before Christmas and up on the roofSat an elderly woman looking for proof
Relationships: Susan Pevensie/Father Christmas
Comments: 15
Kudos: 12





	a gift for an old friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nasimwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasimwrites/gifts), [loveandrockmusic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandrockmusic/gifts), [pencildragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pencildragon/gifts).



> Tons of credit to nasim, larm and ky for the very merry chat about Susan's magical night with Father Christmas that inspired this piece.

_Twas the night before Christmas and up on the roof_ _  
_ _Sat an elderly woman looking for proof_ _  
_ _She’d been waiting quite patiently, bow on her knee:_ _  
_ _A gift for the old friend she needed to see_

* * *

Susan waited until her daughter’s whole family had retired to bed before creeping through the house to fetch her boots and coat from the front hall. They’d put her in the spare room on the main floor, on account of her age; Susan appreciated the thought even as she easily stole up the stairs and into the youngest’s bedroom. Little Eric blinked up at her from beneath his mound of blankets, so Susan paused to give him a kiss. The boy’s eyes fluttered closed and Susan continued on her way. 

Technically, his bedroom window did not lead onto the roof proper. The shingled porch overhang was thin and slightly sloped and also icy in patches. This did not particularly bother Susan, who had been hiking in the Rockies with friends before arriving at her daughter’s house for the holidays. She checked that her quiver and bow were secure on her back and then jumped up to hook her fingers on the eavestrough. Using Eric’s window frame as a foothold, it was easy enough to climb up. 

Still, for all the aerobics classes she’d been taking, the effort winded her. Susan allowed herself to lay for a minute on the shingles, panting slightly. _I’m getting too old for this shit,_ she thought. Her body was going to ache in the morning, no doubt about that. But she’d made it to the roof. Stage one complete. 

The night was very quiet. One of the neighbours had been holding a Christmas Eve bash but even that had wound down before Susan came outside. The sky was clear. She stared up at the nearly-full moon and breathed in the crisp air. 

Once she’d gotten her breath back, Susan flexed her fingers and got to her feet again. Balancing carefully, she made her way towards the chimney and chose this spot to wait. In order to lean more comfortably against the brick support, she lay her quiver and bow upon her lap. 

The bow had been a gift from her husband, once upon a time: an anniversary gift that he’d had crafted according to her own wistful descriptions. It wasn’t quite the same as the one from her former life, of course. This bow had been made by human hands, not magic--but those human hands had belonged to an expert craftsman, and the gift had been given with love, and those together made it almost as powerful. Susan traced the whimsical designs carved into the wood and lost herself, for a time, to her memories. 

When the bells began to jingle in the distance, she was almost asleep.

* * *

He looked exactly as she remembered: large but not particularly soft, old but unaging. He was not, to be sure, the merry Santa Claus that Americans had commercialized; this was the same Father Christmas who had gravely handed out weapons to children. Back then, he had seemed to her utterly ancient and inhuman. 

She stood before him, a child no longer. Her quiver hung from one hand, her bow from the other. “You came,” she said. 

The man inclined his head. “Susan of Finchley,” was his greeting, “It has been many a Christmas Eve since I last saw you.” 

“You certainly took your sweet time finding me again,” she told him. “I thought maybe you might come when we first returned to England. Or after my family died and I was left alone--I could have used some of your hope then, you know.” 

“The hope you needed was not mine to give,” he said gently. “I had already given you my gift. And then you found someone else who could give you another.” He nodded to the weapon she held, and Susan’s fingers curled tighter about the wooden shaft. 

She studied him a little longer. After so many decades, she had the experience to see beneath the man’s surface: there was vulnerability and fallibility both. Father Christmas might be ancient and unaging but he was, in a sense, as human as she was.

So Susan slung the quiver over her shoulder. “I’m too old now to carry grudges. And too old for new gifts. All I really wanted tonight was to see an old friend.” 

His smile was slow and warm. “And that, Susan Pevensie, is why tonight I have finally come.” 

Just like that, the brittleness between them shattered. Susan broke into a smile of her own and Father Christmas chuckled. He spread his arms and she fell into him. The embrace was comforting, the fur of his coat warm against her cheek. “It is _good_ to see you,” she whispered into his chest, and his arms tightened briefly around her. 

When she pulled back, the winter air felt even colder in comparison. Susan shivered and adjusted her scarf. Father Christmas reached out to tuck one of her white curls beneath her woolen cap. His leather glove was soft against her skin.

As he started to pull away, Susan reached up and caught his hand. “Do you have to go so soon?” 

“It’s Christmas Eve,” he reminded her unnecessarily. “I do have an awful lot of stops to make tonight.” 

“Is it lonely? Most people don’t manage to catch you.” 

“That’s part of the magic, not getting caught.” He gave her a wink. “You spoiled it for yourself, this year.” 

“I wouldn’t say so.” She still held his hand in hers and he did not pull away. Behind the rough grey beard, his eyes were the clear blue of an icy glacier. “It will be a shame to part again so soon.” 

There was only one thing he could say to that, and Father Christmas did not disappoint.

* * *

It had been a long time since Susan had experienced magic as strong as that which the sleigh emitted. The air was thick with it; she pulled off one glove and lifted her bare hand to feel the streams of magic slipping between her fingers. When she looked out over the sleigh’s sides, she could see the tiny houses passing below.

“It’s wonderful,” she breathed. The magic made her feel young again in body and soul. She basked in the feeling before letting her arm fall. 

“It gives me pleasure to see that smile,” said Father Christmas, laughing. 

Susan let the smile widen. 

The bench was designed for a single occupant, which meant there was not much room for an extra passenger. Susan did not mind. She’d said it would be cozy when Father Christmas pointed this out, and now she leaned her head upon his shoulder and looked at the stars as they flew. 

Every breath she released was a soft cloud but Susan no longer felt cold. Maybe it was the magic, or the heat of the man beside her, or the rising certainty in her chest that _this_ was where she was meant to be. 

How long they flew together, Susan was never afterward sure. Father Christmas visited an uncountable number of houses across both Americas, steadily following the moon westward. Sometimes, they spoke about little things like how he knew which children were good enough for a visit. Sometimes, they spoke about heavier topics like the end of another world they had both held dear. Sometimes, they did not speak at all. 

“Your company has been a great gift to me, Susan Pevensie,” Father Christmas said at last. “My night in this world comes to a close but I find myself reluctant to say farewell. Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to my home?” 

Susan sat up. “Your home?” she repeated. “I imagine that’s much farther away than the North Pole of this Earth.” 

He chuckled again but this time, he sounded almost bashful. 

“I wouldn’t mind continuing this adventure a little longer,” she said. “Your sleigh slips between the worlds. Am I correct that it can also slip between time?” When he did not answer, she continued, “My family will worry if I am not back by morning.” 

“I think we can make that happen,” said Father Christmas. He flicked at the reins and the sleigh leapt up into the air once more.

* * *

Susan watched as Father Christmas climbed out of the sleigh and strode over the packed snow towards the reindeer. He took time with each animal, patting their heads and saying quiet words of endearment. She could see how much he loved those animals, and how they felt in return. Along the line he went, starting from the front and working his way steadily towards the sleigh. He did not actually unhitch the animals; that, apparently, would be a job for the elves. 

As he moved among the reindeer, Susan ran her hand over the quiver sitting on her lap. She pulled a single arrow free, rolling it between her fingers and reexamining the fletching. When Father Christmas reached the last of his reindeer, she stood up.

In a single movement perfected by decades of practise, Susan drew her bow.

Her arrow pierced Father Christmas in the neck. 

The man took a long time to die. He was still gasping and choking as he collapsed onto the snow, the reindeer skittering away as far as their harnesses would allow. Susan strung a second arrow before hopping down from the sleigh to approach the dying man with caution. He’d rolled onto his back, his hands fluttering over the arrow that protruded from his neck. The snow was spattered with his crimson blood. 

_How festive,_ Susan thought wryly. 

Her arrow had very effectively silenced the man but she could still read the question in his bulging eyes. She hadn’t actually planned on giving any sort of speech; Susan tended to view people who did so as self-aggrandizing. But he was taking his sweet time departing this mortal coil so, as she raised her bow a second time, Susan told him, “That was for your patronizing bullshit.” 

He gurgled his confusion. 

“Battles are ugly when women fight,” she reminded him. “But things get uglier still when that’s what you tell young girls as you hand them weapons they’re not supposed to use.” 

Her second arrow struck him in the heart and killed him instantly.

* * *

There were three matters to immediately attend to. First were the reindeer. Susan unhitched them herself, though she had no guarantee the animals wouldn’t turn on her immediately. She needn’t have worried; the leader of the reindeer bowed his head low to her and declared that his team would be happy to bear her anywhere in all the worlds. 

“Maybe later,” Susan told him, “but thank you.” 

Second were the elves. A number of them had slipped out of their large, drafty-looking workshop to gape at the corpse upon the ground. Susan had quite a lot to say to them, though she was impatient to move on. Unions and fair pay were an entirely new concept to the elves but they picked up the general ideas quickly enough. 

Third was the log house on the hill. The windows were warm and smoke poured cheerily from the chimney, but there was no one inside when Susan entered. After some brief investigations, she came to the conclusion that there had once been a Mrs. Claus but the woman had been gone for some time. There was no sign of what had happened to her, just a wardrobe filled with moth-bitten clothes. It was probably a good thing, Susan thought, that she didn’t have to deal with a newly made widow. 

She slept the rest of the night on the couch in front of the fire. When she woke, Susan was refreshed and prepared to get the real work started.

* * *

_Twas the night before Christmas and the boy was a mess_ _  
_ _He’d lashed out at school; his sister thought him a pest_  
_But a woman arrived with a gift and a kiss_ _  
“I believe in you, dear,” said Mother Christmas._


End file.
